


Standards

by Kahvi, Roadstergal



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another supply raid on a derelict leads Rimmer and Lister to an argument, which in turn leads to... something that's still fairly close to an argument. You get lonely in space, but you do have standards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rimmer stood at Starbug's airlock, bazookoid in hand, and glared. He glared at Kryten's impassive, burnished form. He glared at Lister, fumbling with his spacesuit and taking twice as long as he should to get the blasted thing fastened. He glared at the airlock, which would shortly be opening to reveal the hatchway of a wrecked ship he could then glare at. Rimmer loved dangerous missions, full of risk and the opportunity for heroism, as long as he was not actually on them. The only thing he liked less than a dangerous mission that he was forced to be on was a dangerous mission that he was forced to be on that he considered unnecessary.

The latter two did tend to overlap significantly.

He had very logical and rational arguments pertaining to why this mission was unnecessary. They had food. In fact, they had enough smegging curry to keep Lister flatulent for five years, according to Kryten. All they really needed off of that ship was fuel, and they could link up with the tank and siphon it off externally. There was no need for them to risk whatever horrors might dwell on that thing for a glorified looting trip. He presented his case very calmly and rationally at the meeting in the midsection, and the other three very calmly and rationally ignored it. He then threw an uncalm and irrational hissy fit, and he and Lister had a slanging match. It started on the subject of Lister's boredom and cabin fever versus Rimmer's caution, moved to the subject of Lister's irresponsibility and Rimmer's cowardice, touched briefly on hypothesized past and potential future sexual relations, and ended on a good note with Lister telling Rimmer that they would be exploring the wreck, and that was final, and Rimmer inviting Lister to explore self-intercourse.

They had only recently started bunking together again, and Rimmer spent a rather tight-lipped evening staring at the ceiling and contemplating moving his accoutrement back to the third sleeping cabin. It seemed to irritate Kryten to have him sharing a room with Lister again, though, and that was worth an uncomfortable silence every now and then.

Rimmer valiantly agreed to man Starbug while the other three explored the ship. However, as a final tweak of his nose, he was informed by _Kryten_ that Cat would be manning the ship while Rimmer accompanied Lister and Kryten on the salvage expedition. Apparently, they were all very impressed by how his hard-light drive stood up to the grenade. _And gave me a month-long stomach-ache_ , Rimmer groused internally.

Lister finally finished screwing on his helmet, and gave the thumbs-up. Kryten pressed the cycle button, and the air whooshed out of the lock. Rimmer had not yet gotten out of the habit of holding breath he didn't need when entering a vacuum or water, and had to force himself to relax as the outer door opened.

The wrecked ship truly was wrecked. The hull was split right next to the airlock, exposing a stretch of corridor. Lister shot a mooring rope with a magnetized end towards the hull, and missed. Rimmer groaned; it went no further than his simulated vocal cords in the vacuum. Lister reeled the rope in and re-shot; this time it smacked into the hull next to the rip with a dull clang.

His voice buzzed somewhere in the middle of Rimmer. The hologram hated the radio interface with his light bee. "Sorry; I haven't had anything to drink yet." Rimmer made another noiseless groan as Lister anchored his end of the line and crossed hand-over-hand over to the ship, activating his magnetic boots and landing on the corridor floor with a clank. Rimmer slung the bazookoid behind his back and crossed his arms, nodding for Kryten to go next. The mechanoid shook his head and crossed as Lister had. Rimmer followed, clutching the line tightly with sweaty hands and delivering a quick prayer of thanks to St. Barnacle, the patron saint of leeches, as he landed next to the other two. He had no magnetic boots, and his light bee's grav-hover was slightly disconcerted by the weak gravity of the asteroid the ship had crashed on. He swayed on his feet, regained his balance, and looked at Lister. He tapped his foot impatiently on the deck.

Lister looked positively thrilled to be in an airless, debris-strewn, unlit corridor. He peered around. "There you are then!"

Rimmer sighed and clutched at his bazookoid. "Yes. See anything lovely? Neither do I."

"Keep yer knickers on; we've only been here two seconds."

"Precisely two seconds too long," Rimmer groused. Knowing Lister, they would probably traipse around this wreck for hours, poking into every greasy corner and rotting mattress. Hell, it probably reminded Lister of home. Rimmer jiggled one foot nervously.

Lister gazed down the corridor with considerable excitement, as though he were expecting Father Christmas to be hiding somewhere down there. Rimmer, of course, was nervous as always, and it annoyed Lister, even more than usual. What would it _take_ to make the man just smegging _relax_? "Dunno what yer complaining about; you're already dead."

"Doesn't leave me with much to lose, does it?" Rimmer asked, testily. He glanced up and down the murky corridor.

Ignoring Mr. Charisma, Lister turned to Kryten. "Wadda ya reckon, Krytes? Should we split up?"

Kryten nodded. "Yes, that sounds most prudent. You and I can take the left-hand corridor."

"No smegging way!" Rimmer interjected. The only thing worse than being forced to explore a strange and potentially dangerous wreck would be to be forced to explore a strange and potentially dangerous wreck by himself. A party of two means half the chance of getting unexpectedly shot.

"Yeah, I'm with Rimmer," Lister sneered. "You can't leave him here and expect him to go off on his own. He'll just stay put and shiver in a corner like the smegging coward he is." He made a face, invisible beneath his helmet, but he hoped the sour note in his voice would project it straight into the goit's skull.

Rimmer rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "Just because I happen to have an _ounce_ of self-preservation..."

"Exploring derelicts _is_ having self-preservation, man! We've been over this," Lister spat, irate. Not this again, he thought with some desperation.

"Not when all we need is fuel," Rimmer grumbled. "You're just looting. Hoping to find some spangles or baubles to dress up that grotty leather jacket." Which would be fine, only you dragged _me_ into it, Rimmer added, silently.

"Rimmer, I'm not a smegging magpie!" Lister felt himself beginning to sulk. "Look, let's just get going, all right?" He hated being sulky! It was just, being around Rimmer lately just seemed to get him on edge. They didn't fight as much as they used to, but there was something in the air. He chewed his lower lip.

Kryten did not look in the least bit happy with this arrangement. "Sir, are you sure that's a good idea?" He eyed Rimmer, his Visual Expression Emulator in Suspicion Mode.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Lister grumbled. He just wanted to get on with it.

"If you really think so, sir..." Kryten replied, every part of his body except his voice indicating that Lister should probably think it through again. Lister pointedly ignored him.

Rimmer tapped his foot again. In theory, his solution should make everybody pleased. "Look, how about you two split up, and I go back to the ship? I think that's a lovely idea."

"Shut it, you!" Lister shouted, a little too harshly than he'd intended. So much for theory, Rimmer thought. "Kryten; he's coming with me. I don't trust him on his own." Rimmer tried to glare a hole in Lister's spacesuit.

Kryten shouldered his bazookoid, looking dejected. "Very well. Keep in radio contact." Lister nodded and reassured the mechanoid that he would. Kryten walked down the left-hand corridor, glancing frequently over his shoulder at Rimmer and Lister.

"You don't _trust_ me?" Rimmer groused as they walked down the right-hand corridor. "Think I'll nick some slimy bauble without giving you first bagsies?"

"No, I think you'll stick yer tail between yer legs and leggit at the first sign of what yer paranoid mind tells you is trouble," Lister retorted easily.

"Yes? And?"

Lister sighed. "Come on." He increased the pace, and Rimmer had to hurry in his wake. They hadn't gone further than fifty meters or so before Lister's radio crackled to life.

"Sir?" Kryten's voice could be heard in both Lister's helmet and Rimmer's light bee. Rimmer's hand involuntarily flew to his stomach; it felt like someone was trapped inside his abdominal cavity.

"Yeah, Krytes?" Lister answered.

"Just checking in to make sure everything is A-OK." The mechanoid sounded cheerful; too cheerful, like he was trying to assure the passengers of the Titanic that everything was swell and fine, and that they would soon be serving cocktails and snacks to get everyone's mind off that pesky ice-berg.

"Yes, Kryten," Lister sighed, "we're fine."

"Don't hesitate to call if anything happens." He paused. "You know, just any little thing! Can't be too careful on these rusty old ships, you know." He laughed, a patently fake, hollow laughter, which made Lister shudder a little.

"Yeah, man, I know." Lister shook his head, and broke contact. Sometimes he worried a little about the mechanoid. He felt very much like a teenager on his first date, being hounded by his mum. Rimmer raised his eyebrows, but Lister just turned and kept on walking, with Rimmer hovering warily at his shoulder. The damaged walls, with their odd texture and funny looking bits and bobs, practically invited Lister to poke at them, and he did so frequently, with keen interest.

Rimmer kept back from the walls, holding his bazookoid warily. "Fantastic idea for a holiday," he grumbled. "Trudge through a long-trashed spaceship poking at the space-lichen growing on the walls." He eyed Lister's exploration of the latter with distaste.

"We're not on holiday, Rimmer." Lister was starting to feel like he could use one though; far away from sad-git holograms that dragged everything down.

" _You_ are," Rimmer replied. It boggled the mind. Lister could not be more bored by amateur Hammond Organ recital night, but he considered poking around rusty ships to be brilliant entertainment. Rimmer noted a grime-encrusted door and lengthened his stride, hoping to pass it before Lister saw it.

"Hang on a bit!" said Lister, stopping and squinting ahead towards the grimy rectangle.

"Lister..." Rimmer sighed.

"That's a door, there!"

"Yes..." Rimmer replied, warily. Lister hurried towards it. "Wait!" Rimmer barked. "You don't know what's in there!"

Lister brushed at the grime on the door, looking for signs of what might be on the other side. Eventually, a faded standard biohazard sign emerged, looking somewhat worse for wear. Rimmer nodded at it. "Well, that's that."

Lister grinned. To him the faded sign read only "Fun", and he started pushing eagerly at the door. It did not move. He pushed harder.

"Lister!" Rimmer said, with exasperation. "What the smeg are you doing? That's a research laboratory!"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Lister asked. "I can see it's a laboratory; that's how come I want to get into it!"

"What does it look like you're doing? It looks like you're trying to release some ancient biological weapon of terror that has been seething behind that door for a hundred years."

"Or," Lister replied with exaggerated optimism and excitement, "it could be they found the cure for death."

"Lister, that sign is the universal symbol for 'biohazard.' It is not the universal symbol for 'tasty and delightful things within.'"

Lister shrugged. "That doesn't mean it's still dangerous, though."

"And it doesn't mean it's still not liable to rip your head off and use it as a football."

It was too tempting. "Why don't you go in first, then?" Lister crossed his arms as best he could in the bulky suit, waiting for Rimmer's hopefully amusing reaction.

"I happen to like my body."

Lister looked at the body in question. For a moment, a different sort of reply hovered at the edge of his consciousness, but he landed safely on "Yer not exactly biological, though. It's not going to hurt you, whatever it is, is it?"

"I could still catch a holo-virus," Rimmer replied. "Gingham is not me."

Lister shuddered, as images of penguin puppets danced in his mind. "Yer right about that."

The crackle of the radio startled them both, making Rimmer jump slightly, and Lister loose his balance. "Sir?" The worry in Kryten's voice was unmistakable this time.

"Yes, Krytes, what is it?" Lister answered, slightly exasperated.

"Just checking in to make sure everything is A-OK." The cheerfulness was back, with the worry playing in the background like a badly tuned guitar.

"We're _fine_ , Kryten," Lister said, firmly, waving his hands pointlessly for emphasis.

"I'm glad to hear it!" Again, there was a hesitant pause, wherein Lister coughed a little less than politely. "Well... Don't hesitate to call if anything happens," Kryten said, reluctantly. "I'll be waiting by the..."

Lister cut the connection. "For smeg's sake!"

Rimmer had been scraping away at more of the grime during the conversation. Lister craned his neck to see if anything interesting would show up. "Authorized personnel only," Rimmer read. "Clearance code phi. Well, you can't go in there anyway, Listy. You're not authorized." An easy solution.

Lister pushed at door again, swearing when it refused to budge. "Lister, you'd be violating the clearance!" Rimmer hissed through his teeth. Seeing a small inset handle, Lister pulled at it until the door opened. He flashed his torch inside.

"Here's me violating it, 'Sir'." The word came out as something between a parody of Rimmer's thick Ionian accent and a childish taunt. "Better report me to the captain, eh?" Light played over beakers and test tubes and columns and computers, mostly smashed and scattered about. Glass crunched underfoot as Lister gingerly walked in, looking around for something to annoy Rimmer with. It had, he decided, become his main mission for this outing.

Rimmer watched from the door, going slightly mad with frustration. "Look, Listy! Smashed storage containers everywhere! Smeg only knows what's splashed around!"

The light from Lister's torch played over the confusing mess, reflecting from broken glass and plasti-glass. "That could be from ages ago, though."

"Viruses can stay virulent for ages. Do you _want_ to turn into the Fly?"

Lister considered this. "Might not be bad. It'd be neat to be able to climb walls and that." It'd be a change. God, he'd do _anything_ for a change!

"It'd certainly improve your looks."

"Yeah, yeah!" Picking up a test tube from the ground, Lister held it up to the light. A blue liquid sparkled inside. "Hey, pretty, innit?"

Rimmer gritted his teeth and walked into the room, wincing at the glass that crunched underfoot. "Look at this place! I bet it's swimming with engineering products gone wrong that will do all kinds of strange things to you." He paused and considered. "Well, stranger than the things you do to yourself already."

"What do you care, anyway?" Lister asked, tucking the blue tube into a crook in his arm. "I'm a 'lazy goited piece of space-junk with cabin fever,' remember?"

Rimmer grimaced. He bent down and picked up a smashed test tube from the wreckage, reading off of its label. "Painful human death virus. Designed to penetrate spacesuits."

Lister snorted. "Yer yankin' my chain." He knew Rimmer too well. Far, far too well.

"Well, it might very well say that. I can't read it."

"What do you mean, you can't read it?" Lister sniggered. "Is it in Esperanto?"

Rimmer gave Lister a scathing look. "It looks like Latin. Now, if it were Greek, and pertained to harems, my time with Alexander the Great would come in handy."

"Yeah, shame that," Lister said, wearily. Looking down, he found a tube with a deep red liquid by his left foot. By his right, a beaker with only a little bit of space-lichen clinging to it urged him to pick it up, and he did so, pouring the two tubes sloppily into the beaker. The streams met and exploded with a satisfying bang and a puff of purple smoke, sending him reeling back, and almost crashing into Rimmer. Rimmer jumped a foot, and landed in a pile of glassware. Lister laughed, waving away the smoke, wishing he could smell it, as Rimmer struggled to regain his balance, beakers and jars and smeg only knows what else crunching below his feet.

"You stupid smegging impulsive brainless nitwit jerkoff scumbag! Stop messing about!" Rimmer hollered.

"Aw, yer no fun, man," Lister giggled.

Rimmer regained his footing and glared at Lister. "I may be no fun, but at least I'm still..." he came to a halt as he realized that the clichè did not work. He bit his lip and frowned.

"What?" prodded Lister. "Alive? Sparkling with charisma?"

"Are you quite done here?" Rimmer grated.

The scouser gave an awkward, space-suited shrug. "I guess so. I was hoping to find a book on bioweapons. The recipes help with making curries, sometimes." Taking one final look around, Lister made a non-committal noise, and walked back out into the corridor. Rimmer was on his heels, and took an airless breath of relief once out of the laboratory.

As on cue, the radio crackled to life again. Lister grit his teeth as that mock-cheerful voice boomed into his head once more. "Mister Lister, Sir? Is everything all right?"

Lister banged his helmeted head against a wall. "Well no, it isn't, actually. Rimmer's got me pinned up against the wall - I think he's trying to kill me."

Kryten's voice rose into a squeal of fright. "Mister Lister! I'll be right there!" The sounds of pounding feet came over the radio before the call was cut.

Rimmer's mouth was agape. "What the smeg?"

Lister shook his head. "Bloody nanny-bot!"

"Lister, what are you up to?"

Lister tapped the radio button. "Never mind, man, false alarm. We're heading back your way."

The sound of pounding metal feet was still audible. "False alarm? I think he's just trying to trick you, sir. Don't move!" The radio cut back out.

Rimmer slung the bazookoid across his back. "Lister, you have the sense of humor of a rugby coach. 'Look, they're ripping his leg off! Hilarious!'"

Lister giggled. He stopped as a gentle thudding echoed through the metal of the corridor. Both he and Rimmer strained to analyze it. It was becoming less gentle every moment. Lister tried to peer through the dim corridor. He tapped his radio button. "That you, Krytes? We're all right; I was just messing about." He paused and tapped the button again. "That's strange; no answer..."

Kryten hove into view as the pounding shook the corridor. He was moving at a dead run, and hit Rimmer with a flying tackle. Lister jumped back as Rimmer and Kryten flew through the weak gravity until they hit the wall that Kryten had been aiming for. The mechanoid jumped back and turned his bazookoid on Rimmer, his eyes almost alight with fury and what looked like pure android insanity.

"Kryten, erm..." Lister moved cautiously forward. Rimmer had 'landed' on the bazookoid that was slung across his back, and was very much not enjoying himself at the moment.

"...You might want to put that down," Lister concluded.

Kryten looked over at Lister solicitously. "Are you _sure_ you're OK, Mister Lister?"

Lister spread his arms. "I look it, don't I?" He added, emphatically, "Yes. Yes, I'm just fine."

Rimmer groaned and started to peel himself away from the wall. "In about two minutes, when my back straightens, he's not going to be."

"We'll see about that," Lister retorted. Kryten, meanwhile, had noted the door Lister was standing next to. "Mister Lister - you didn't go in there, did you?"

Rimmer tried to bend forwards. He was very testy and very sore; the latter influencing the former strongly. "Oh, yes, microbrain just _had_ to play in a biolab."

Kryten shook his head. "Oh, I knew I should have come with you. Playing in a biolab!" He sighed. "Well, the JMC spacesuits are virion-proof. Mister Lister should be safe."

Rimmer grimaced, still trying to bend down far enough to rest his hands on his thighs. "What about me?"

Kryten looked at Rimmer with confusion. "What about you?"

Lister mimicked Rimmer. "What about meee! I keep telling ya, yer not a biological entity!"

Rimmer glared at them both. He was being ganged up upon by a subordinate and an electronic toilet-scrubber. "Did you find anything, bogbot?"

Kryten nodded. "I did find their food stores. Unfortunately, it consisted wholly of anchovies and beet soup. I believe it was an attempt to simplify alphabetized cargo lists."

"Why do we always have to alphabetize them, anyway?" Lister whined. It had always seemed absurd and nonsensical to him, but then again, Lister had never read the Space Corps Directives either.

Rimmer shook his head. "No sense of discipline or order. That's the only way to survive, in deep space!"

"Yeah, because eating food prepared out of alphabetical order will kill ya straight!"

"Slippery slope, Listy..."

Kryten hurried to interrupt. "I think we should take the food supplies and call it a successful salvage."

"Let's skip the anchovies," Rimmer recommended. "If Lister develops a taste for curried anchovies, I'm finding another ship."

Kryten made a mental note to look up curried anchovy recipes. "The supplies are near the rift, sir. With a bit of coordination, we should be able to just propel them across as we cross the line."

Rimmer straightened, gingerly. "There isn't enough coordination in this group to tie a bow knot." He stalked back to the rendezvous point.

Lister shook his head and patted the mechanoid on the back. "Come on Krytes... let's get those anchovies on their way." He had the feeling it was going to be a long day.  



	2. Chapter 2

Lister's feet ached. His hands ached. His neck ached. His head ached trying to keep track of the different parts of him that ached. He'd spent a not very inspiring few hours stacking and alphabetizing the numerous crates of dusty anchovies and several million years over-due dried beet soup. He looked at the awkward, stained gloves he was still wearing, and sniffed them, tentatively. Recoiling from the indescribable smell, he shook them off, and left them in the corridor for Kryten to find and clean up later. He'd given up trying to make things easier for the mechanoid the moment he'd realized how much Kryten actually enjoyed tidying up.

At the entrance to the quarters he now shared, once again, with Rimmer, he paused, hesitating. Things had not been well between them lately, although it had not yet sunk to the level of those gloomy first few months after losing Red Dwarf. Something was just off. It was as though they were drawn to one another and repelled at the same time. Right now, for example, Lister dreaded having to walk in and see Rimmer's smug-bastard face, while at the same time he longed for the hologram's company. They'd been stewed together in space too long, probably; becoming like an old married couple, bickering rather than talking. It was addictive. When they'd slept in separate rooms and avoided one another, it had been as though something was missing; they'd both felt it. Now, though... things were coming to a head. Lister only wished he knew what that head was.

The worst of it, the very worst thing, was that really, Lister felt Rimmer was a pretty nice guy, underneath. Underneath the armor of smeg-headedness, underneath the git exterior. If only there was a way of bringing that Rimmer out; letting him see himself! Lister sighed. Small chance of that. Shaking his braids lose from the band he'd just undone, he stepped into the tick-laden atmosphere of something-or-other that was his and Rimmer's shared environment. He really, really, wanted a shower. Rimmer was fussing about, still tetchy from the tackle he had been on the wrong end of.

"I wish I coulda gotten a clearer look at those tubes, you know. I bet I could have figured the writing out. Coulda been a laugh, whatever they were." Lister sat down in one of the two creaky plastic chairs with a sigh.

Rimmer looked up from where he was poking in his storage locker. "What are you blithering on about? What would you know about writing, Listy? You're the only man I know who spells 'library' with four letters."

Lister silently mouthed 'lbry' and frowned. "What are you on about?"

Rimmer shook his head and pulled out a crisp white towel, neatly folded. "The human race is well remembered."

Lister glared. "Twonk."

Rimmer turned to face him. "Micro-tagered bum!" He fisted his back, still highly irritated at the prank.

"At least I know what mine looks like," Lister shot back, "'cause I dress when the lights are still on!"

Rimmer sniffed. Decades lost in deep space without any women still alive had indeed eased his sensibilities to the point where he no longer required pitch-blackness to change, but he still considered it tacky. "Some of us don't need enough light to check ours for growths, Lister."

Lister shook his head, affecting grave seriousness. "We've been over this; it's not a growth. That's natural, that is; it's called an erection."

Rimmer looked at Lister with irritation. As if popping a stiffy every ten minutes was a feat to be admired. "And the fact that you get one in the absence of anything vaguely female should concern you, Listy. What's your temptress, a tin of mutton vindaloo?"

Lister shrugged "No, sheep are more your thing." His eyes drifted to Rimmer's tight-fitting trousers, and he swallowed. "There's such a thing as being secure enough in yer manhood that you don't have to accuse others of buggery every five minutes, you know."

"I wasn't the one dreaming of a farm full of underwater sheep on Fiji, Listy." Rimmer sat in the other chair, gingerly, and stretched his legs out once he was certain it wouldn't break under him. He dropped the towel on the ground. "I wasn't the one dreaming of doing Betty Rubble last night, either. Do you realize how loudly you yell when you have wet dreams?"

Lister blushed and started stuttering. "Erm... Pull the other one, eh? Like I'd be dreaming of..." his voice drifted, softly, for a moment,"...That..." He couldn't remember what'd been dreaming, actually. Betty might have featured in there somewhere, but there was something else he couldn't quite remember... Pulling himself together, he went for the all-time best defense; attack. "Besides, yer not exactly a silent sleeper yerself! What was it you wanted to be 'harder, harder' then?"

Rimmer coughed. "Er, I was thinking of McGruder." He puffed out his chest, in an absurd display of machismo. "Moments like that, you know, stick with you." His eyelid twitched.

"Yeah, she was hard, that one." Lister sniggered "And I'm sure it was a very impressive moment."

"Er, yes. Well, you know how it is, Lister!" Rimmer affected a worldly air, worried that Lister might guess what had actually been going through his mind at the time. "A magnificent woman during sex is just..." he frowned, "...hard...er."

Lister made a heroic struggle to control his laughter. "Yeah, you reckon? How hard was she then?" He crossed his arms over his stomach, as though this would contain the burst of laughter threatening to break out of there.

Rimmer made a valiant attempt to be suavely dismissive. Would this conversation please just move on? "Oh, just brilliant. Really. Shouldn't you be getting back to Betty? Or the sheep?"

Lister shrugged again. He was weary as hell, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He always tended to feel more awake at nights. "Nah, I'm fine." Sensing potential entertainment, he scooted his chair a little closer to the clearly nervous hologram. "So, brilliant, was she?" He leaned towards Rimmer, with a mock air of camaraderie. "I bet you really gave her one, eh?"

Rimmer looked down at the new proximity of his sprawled feet and Lister's boots. He wished Lister would get it through his thick wooly head that he had no interest in being his 'pal.' He shifted in his chair. "Well, one thing lead to another..." he trailed off.

Lister kicked Rimmer's boot with his own, enjoying the physical contact. He was a very touchy kind of person, on the whole, but Rimmer rarely invited touch, so Lister made do with what he could. "I bet it does!" he replied, grinning so widely he feared his face would burst.

Rimmer hiked his trouser legs and resettled himself in the chair, irately. "Yes, it _does_ , squire."

Scooting his chair even closer until he was facing slightly towards Rimmer, Lister leant over to the other man. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just... you know; gets lonely in space, yeah? Remembering sex is all we've got now." He gave Rimmer a poignant look.

Rimmer snorted. "Yes, remembering sex is a good way to while away five minutes or so." He recalled his sexual exploits from his life, and found that he'd be hard-pressed to fill a solid minute.

The words 'five minutes' echoed in Lister's mind. Five minutes? He almost didn't understand what Rimmer was referring to. Five minutes of what? When it finally dawned on him, it was as though a heavy lump of something foul and greasy materialized in his guts. "Oh, eh..." He trailed off, with no idea what to say. He ran his fingers through his close-cropped hair. "Maybe... Maybe I do need some sleep. Been a long day and that."

Rimmer looked over at the obviously wide-awake Lister. "A long day? Do sucking down curries and slobbing about really take so much energy?"

"Don't be like that; I work! I helped Kryten alphabetize the dry-goods we picked up this morning. Took forever, that." He twisted his hat around restlessly.

"Quite an organizational task, Listy, considering that our dry-goods catch spanned an entire two letters of the alphabet."

"Yeah, but I'm allergic to beets, aren't I? I had to use those padded gloves we found in that research station, and I kept dropping boxes." He fidgeted in his seat.

"Isn't that what Kryten is for?" Rimmer asked, pointedly. "To touch the things you don't like?"

Lister squirmed in discomfort. He didn't like where this conversation was heading. "There are... things I wouldn't want him touching." He looked down at the floor, unable to meet Rimmer's eyes, remembering Kryten's tackle of the hologram, and the way he'd almost felt pain himself when the android slammed into Rimmer's body.

The mechanoid's overprotective behavior was also on Rimmer's mind. "Like what, squire, your tadger? I bet he'd love to - that erector-set French Maid fancies you, you know." He winked nastily.

This entirely unexpected and unwanted mental image caught Lister completely unawares, and he scooted himself away, making a face. "God, no! That's sick that is! That's worse than the idea of making love to curried mutton, even considering how much that'd probably sting!"

Rimmer leaned further forward, on full snark offensive. "Ah, but you said it gets lonely in space, didn't you?"

Lister's facial expressions were progressing through subtle shades of absolute disgust. He was trying not to use his brain, for fear of what thoughts this might bring. "No one gets that lonely! I'd do the Cat before I did him! Hell, I'd even -" He stopped abruptly, realizing what he was about to say.

Rimmer's eyebrows jumped, and he looked down at his feet. He dismissed the last sentence of Lister's from his memory, and grabbed the penultimate statement. "Cat. That's fairly desperate, even for you."

"I'd rather do him than Kryten; that's not saying much!" Lister stole sidelong glances at Rimmer, wetting his lips. He didn't understand what was going on in his mind, and he was furiously trying to ignore it.

Rimmer sniffed. "And you'd do your mutton curry before both. Back to sheep again, I see."

Lister shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yer twisting my words now. Look, it's not like he fancies me like that anyway."

Rimmer did not think that Lister sounded wholly convinced, and noted the other man's worried look. He twisted the knife. "Yes, I know he only has a trademark in the joy department. Doesn't stop him from acting like a jealous girlfriend when you spend time with anyone other than him." Rimmer frowned. "He's changed. Right git, he is."

Rimmer's words ran like ice down Lister's spine. Surely not. It just wasn't possible. "Yeah, but he wouldn't... He couldn't... It's not like he'd..." He stopped trying for the sentence, looked up at Rimmer with worry in eyes, begging for support. "Would he?"

Rimmer sat back and folded his arms, setting Lister up for the kill. "Only one way to find out..."

Lister was in what the very mechanoid they were discussing would describe as 'full paranoia-mode.' He removed his hat, wringing it and biting the brim. "What?? How?? What??"

Rimmer leaned forward with an evil look. "Seems fairly straightforward. If you want to know if he really fancies you..." he leaned back and shrugged "make a move, see where it goes."

Lister sat back in his own chair, giving Rimmer an utterly befuddled look, with a side of distaste, and censure for afters. "Have you gone completely smegging space-crazy?"

Rimmer put one lean finger up to his mouth. "My, have we found something even Lister won't bonk? Wonders never cease."

Despite himself, not wanting to rise to Rimmer's bait, Lister swallowed it hook, line and sinker. "Just because I'm more sexually experienced than you," he said, then mumbling, "not that this is a major feat," finishing in a normal voice with "doesn't mean I don't have standards." His firm speech was lessened somewhat in impact by the way his eyes were drawn to Rimmer's tight trousers again.

Rimmer pulled the finger away from his lips and tapped the air with it. "Ah, and there's a difference between 'inexperienced' and 'high standards,' Listy. I am for the latter." Rimmer crossed his arms, his nose in air, quite satisfied with his rejoinder.

True that, Lister thought, nodding. "Good for you then!" He sighed. "If only we had someone to have sex with..." Lister added a quick disclaimer before Rimmer could say something even more offensive, "OTHER than cats and mechanoids - those standards, yours and mine both, might actually mean something."

"I..." Rimmer stumbled over this unexpected offering; he had been prepared for insults thrown right back. "Well." He tapped his lips with a finger. "I suppose not having sex with a dead man is not exactly the pinnacle of restraint," he had to confess.

Was it? Lister felt that unnamed 'something' moving closer to the surface of his mind, and he lost himself in thought for a moment. "Eh? Oh..." His eyes were drawn back to Rimmer's trousers - for a little too long, for the subject of the conversation. "Yer not _dead_ dead, are ya?"

Rimmer shrugged. "According to the census and the ship's log, I'm a stiffy."

Lister felt himself blushing. Why was he blushing? "Well..." Suddenly, the why of it hit him, and he blushed even more deeply. "Erm..." He alternated between looking at his hands and stealing glances at Rimmer. He was fairly certain he knew what the 'something' was now, and he couldn't say he particularly liked it.

"'Erm'?" Rimmer asked, tetchily. "Do I get that as my epitaph?"

"It's just... I..." Something snapped in Lister, and he took a deep breath and spit it out, almost as one long word. "Iwouldn'tminddoingya." He looked away, tapping his feet on the floor. There. He wished he could say he felt better for having said it, or even admitting it to himself, but truth be told, he felt rather worse.

Rimmer's eyebrows shot for the sky, almost escaping Rimmer's head entirely. "You _what_?"

Lister glared at the goit. "You heard. I'm just being honest." He turned slightly away, searching for something safe to look at.

Rimmer's eyebrows dropped into their accustomed place, and then tilted forwards. "So, since those standards don't mean anything, you might as well sleep with a dead man? Pleased though I am that I ranked above a vindaloo on your list of sexual goals, Listy..."

His head shaking, dreadlocks moving like jittery snakes, Lister moaned in frustration. Why did this have to be so bloody hard? "No, I'm telling ya; it's because I have standards I'd rather have you!" He realized what had just come out of his mouth, and mumbled, "What?" Stupid 'something'. Stupid smegging space-crazed libido. Stupid smegging Rimmer for looking like sex on legs.

Rimmer was confused. Standards? Lister had never shown interest in promotion. "What, because I'm your superior officer? That doesn't get you up the ranks anymore, squire."

Anger swelled in Lister. God, he hated the irresistible goit! "NO! Rimmer, I don't care about smegging officerhood; I don't care about swimming certificates; I don't care about any of that! I care about what I see inside you; _inside_ , like! Beyond the gittishness, beyond the snark!" He leaned in closer, breathing heavily.

Rimmer was taken aback. "You don't?" His eyebrows narrowed further in confusion. What other standards were there? "Why on Io not?"

"Because they're just _things_ , man!" Lister shouted. "Just things. They don't mean anything outside their own little narrow world. People now... People are different." His expression softened. "I wish I'd have seen what I see in you now before. You're not a bad guy, at that." He wasn't, Lister realized to his surprise. At that moment, it was as though someone had handed him those goggles that used to come with special comic books when he was a kid, and suddenly he could see straight through Rimmer's carefully constructed armor, and catch a glimpse of the actual person inside. And that person, he noted to his further astonishment, was beautiful.

Rimmer frowned. This was not adding up. "And just how did I progress from a cancerous polyp and a string of diuretic camels to 'not a bad guy'?"

Lister snorted. Rimmer winced at the all-too-audible snot. "It's very possible to be both, ya know. Just at different times, like." He reached out and touched Rimmer's shoulder with his right hand, letting it settle there. "Yer not right in the head, I grant ya that... But neither am I, eh?"

Rimmer turned his head and grimaced at the hand. "Well, you're certainly right about the last bit..."

Lister got up, moving behind the chair, keeping his hand on Rimmer's shoulder. He put his left hand on Rimmer's other shoulder, and took a deep breath. "I might not have come on to ya if this whole thing..." he lifted his hand to indicate Starbug, Red Dwarf, three million years, death, "hadn't happened. But that almost makes me glad it did, yeah?"

Rimmer contorted into odd little positions, trying to look at Lister in a way that did not look like he was looking up at Lister. "Dying. Being hopelessly separated from Earth. You're speaking like it's a good thing," Rimmer groused.

All Lister could do was shrug, once again. "Things are things. They just are. It's we what make 'em good or bad."

"Very deep," Rimmer groused, giving up on looking up in a dignified manner, and settling for crossing his arms again and looking ahead, his legs sprawled out in front.

Oh well, he'd tried. With some resignation, Lister patted Rimmer's shoulders and let go, crossing his arms. "Well, I just wanted ya to know."

Rimmer tried not to look over his shoulder as Lister let go. "Noted, Lister."

"All right, then..." Lister was overcome with an urge to do something, which made him remember that he very much needed a shower (a cold one now, preferably). He was suddenly uneasy at the idea of taking his clothes off, however. He stood in the middle of the floor, uncertain.

"Yes, all right, Listy..." Rimmer sighed and stood. He picked up the towel that he dropped next to his chair, and walked towards the shower.

Lister was already pulling his own towel out of his storage locker. "Oh... Er... Were you going to..."

Rimmer had started to unfasten his jacket. He furrowed his brow in confusion at Lister's unease. "Well, yes. Towel. Shower. They go together." Technically speaking, he did not need to shower. Any foreign substance that attached itself to him could be removed simply by switching to soft-light for a moment and letting it settle or drift away. His light bee did get grotty, however, and although it would be at least as effectively cleaned by taking a soft-light walk through the mechanoid bathing solution that Kryten used, Rimmer compared it unfavorably to sheep dip and stuck with a regular shower, with a switch to soft-light in the middle. His hard-light projection also simulated the growth of his beard, so he had to shave daily. It was quite pretty to watch the stubble disappear in little sparks as it came away from his face, anyway. Above all, though, he simply liked the feel of water on his body. Yes, he didn't _have_ to eat, either, but he was not about to skip tea.

Lister tried not to look too hard at Rimmer unbuttoning his uniform. He gently and quietly slid out of his jacket, hoping the other man would not notice. "Well, that's good. That's a good thing." One arm at a time. Easy does it.

Rimmer did not notice; he was slightly mystified by Lister's comments, but was determined not to let it ruin his shower. "Yes, they did discover this lovely thing called hygiene. Not all that long ago, I know, but it's catching on."

Lister unfastened the top of his overalls with equal stealth, grateful that Rimmer did not look around. "Right. Well... You... Go do that then." He hid his towel behind his back, and gave a false, nervous smile.

 _What is that man going on about_? "Glad I have your permission, Listy." He wrapped the towel around himself and removed his trousers, neatly folding them, as he had been neatly folding the rest of his clothes. They disappeared, just as the rest of his clothes had, as soon as he took his hands off of them. He kept the towel firmly wrapped around himself while he turned on the tap and tested the water temperature with his fingers, only removing it once he was inside of the shower with the door closed.

As soon as Rimmer disappeared into the shower, Lister moved into a frenzy; shedding the rest of his clothes in a massacre of buttons, ties, socks, and underwear. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he paused for a moment, but it was not long enough to reconsider what the hell he was doing. With an odd sense of elation, he bolted like greased lightning into the shower.

Inside, Rimmer had just begun to lather himself with a soapy loofah. He jumped in startlement as Lister careened into the shower, and landed on soapy tile. He lost his balance and grabbed wildly at whatever he could to break his fall. Catching the showerhead with one hand and Lister's braids with the other, he managed to right himself. "What the smeg?" he gasped.

Lister winced as his braids were pulled, and instinctively reached up with both hands to grab them, leaving nothing to hold his towel up. Newton took over, and it dropped, almost triumphantly. Lister looked down after it, as though he could encourage it to crawl back up with just a gaze.

"Oh..." he said, lamely. "I..." He searched for a reasonable explanation, quickly realizing that, in this instance, there was no such thing. He settled for a smile, striking what he hoped was a macho, yet suitably sexy pose.

Rimmer stood there for a moment, staring, soap cascading down him, still grasping the showerhead and braids. He abruptly dropped the braids as if they had caught on fire. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.

Repressing a sudden urge to say "Ta-rah!" Lister coughed instead, standing with his legs somewhat apart. He tried to look calmly at Rimmer, and communicate that he wanted to move closer with subtle eyebrow movements, but it didn't seem to be working.

Rimmer gave up on trying to figure out why Lister's eyebrows were jumping around like they want to punch each other out. He looked pointedly down at Lister's parted legs, then back up at Lister. "Is this a water-conservation move?"

Lister made the mistake of looking between Rimmer's legs. "Maybe..." he replied, in a half-choked falsetto. At least his attraction to Rimmer was no longer a secret, as he felt himself growing quite, quite erect. Again, though, this made him feel worse rather than better.

In much the same way as a platoon of soldiers will stand at attention and maintain a quiet vigil as their flag is raised, Rimmer waited under the showerhead as Lister moved from limp to erect, the goofy grin not slipping from the bum's face. Once Lister was fully vertical, Rimmer raised one eyebrow. "Shall I salute?"

Lister's grin grew wider. "I think you already are!"

Rimmer followed the direction of Lister's pleased gaze, ending up at his bloody lying twit of a tadger, which was enjoying this turn of events. He picked up the loofah, turned around, and pointedly started to scrub at his chest.

Slick soapy water ran over Rimmer's back. Lister watched it slither, trying to remember what it was like to be in that body. The idea seemed impossible to him now. He found he couldn't resist moving closer and touching it - ever so gently.

Rimmer froze at the feel of a finger on his back, rather close to a part of his body that was only used to being felt by a finger with a rubber glove and cold lube on it. He thought even more unhappy thoughts about his bloody lying twit of a tadger, which had practically leapt up to his stomach at that touch.

Lister laid his hand flat, low on Rimmer's back, and ran it up and down, groaning softly at how the water assisted the movement, letting his hand glide. He moved even closer, almost touching Rimmer with his body now.

The movement of Lister's fingers tingled on Rimmer's spine. The hologram grabbed the showerhead and gasped in a mouthful of water.

Nothing could stop Lister from moving closer and sliding his hand across Rimmer's chest, while the other circled the other man's waist. He was close enough now to press his body against the hologram, and did so, leaning his head into the groove between Rimmer's head and shoulder.

Rimmer gasped as Lister's soapy-slick body slid into place, like a puzzle piece, his front molding to Rimmer's back, his erection sliding between Rimmer's cheeks. Rimmer slowly slid his free hand down to grasp his own erection, just holding it, as if he were afraid it would run off into a corner.

Lister nibbled and licked at the wet skin, tasting soap and not caring. Slowly, he moved his hand around Rimmer's waist down to the other man's erection, and slid his hand over Rimmer's hand, moving it up and down, stroking the member it held. Lister slid the foreskin from the exposed head of Rimmer's cock with his thumb, pressing himself even closer.

Rimmer began to ache with excitement as Lister sampled him like the main platter at a sushi bar. He shuddered as the other man's hand closed over his. Oh, lord, what was going on? Rimmer closed his eyes and leaned his head back, catching the full blast of the shower in his face as he leaned back into Lister. He relaxed his hand and let the other man do... whatever it was he was going to do, because at this point, what he was doing felt un-smegging-believable.

Rubbing the exposed head of Rimmer's penis, Lister allowed the soapy water to run all over it, facilitating every motion. He felt his own member pulsing gently with his heartbeat as it lay between Rimmer's legs, and he gripped Rimmer's side with his other hand to keep from thrusting, hard.

Rimmer started to move his hips in time with Lister's strokes, pushing back into the other man to feel his soapily slick warmth all down his own back.

Lister had a faint - very, very faint, at this point - idea that there was something he was supposed to do. Something he very much needed to do in order for - this - to be all right. Oh. Right. He sighed, and tried to gain control of his voice. "If... don't... you..." He groaned. "I... We can... stop..." He bit his lip, drawing a little blood.

Rimmer had not the slightest interest in whatever drivel Lister was spouting. He pushed back harder as Lister's grip relaxed, swapping their hands to put his over Lister's and squeeze, as he still hung onto the showerhead with the other.

Although the word 'erotic' was not normally part of Lister's vocabulary, there was no other word that Lister could think of to describe Rimmer's hand on his. Soapy water covered them both everywhere; every inch of skin, human and hologrammatic, was slippery, glistening, unbearably slick to the touch. Unable to resist any longer, Lister began to slowly thrust between Rimmer's legs - wishing he were religious, so he could pray he wouldn't just loose control and enter the hologram roughly there and then.

There was something very strange about having another man's penis between your inner thighs, let alone having Lister's. Rimmer involuntarily relaxed his legs as he felt the edges of the head sliding back and forth.

This was not the first time Lister had snuck up on someone in the shower like this; it was, however, the first time he had done so with a man. That fact seemed to both hold him back and egg him on at the same time, making his stomach churn slightly with feelings he couldn't quite place. He kept stroking Rimmer, taking advantage of the constant supply of water to do the things he knew drove him wild when girls had done it to him.

Rimmer was slightly disturbed that Lister was so _good_ at this... sex business. Whatever the other man was doing, it was making his knees weak and his mouth spit out random, undignified noises. Where had he learned it all?

Summoning all his willpower, Lister decided to give it one final try. It was just so ingrained in him - you asked. You always asked. Especially with someone like Rimmer, with his unprecedented lack of not just knowledge, but basic understanding of the philosophy (for lack of a better word) of sex. "If... If you don't..." He realized it would probably be a good idea to stop moving while he said this; he knew how willing he would be to listen in Rimmer's place. He slowed his motions almost to a halt, shivering. "If you don't want... this... I... We can... stop." The final word came out as a gasp, as Rimmer moved slightly, thereby tweaking Lister's penis as it lay between his legs.

Rimmer gasped as Lister stopped whatever the hell it was he was doing that felt so magnificent. "Lister..." he said through his teeth. "Don't stop."

That was all Lister needed. Grasping Rimmer's erection with renewed vigor, he moved his head to the other shoulder, and started licking that side of the hologram's neck. His thrusts between Rimmer's legs became longer and more urgent; it was not enough, dammit! He felt he was on the verge of slamming the other man into the wall, but he could no more stop his desperate drive than stop breathing.

Rimmer grunted as Lister slammed into him, the showerhead rattling as he tried to hang on. He gave up on keeping his other hand over Lister's, and used it to brace himself against the wall of the cubicle. Lister had resumed doing that thing with his fingers that made ludicrous things fall out of Rimmer's own mouth.

Lister's free hand shivered as he moved it from Rimmer's hip to his ass, just holding it there, wanting to go further, but afraid of the consequences. He hadn't come this far to have it all break apart now! Conversation would be futile; how could he communicate? How could he prepare, or even ask, the other man for what he desperately wanted - without words? Carefully, he stopped thrusting between Rimmer's legs and withdrew, keeping his hand on the other man's erection. He needed to think. If only his brain was still... still... think-making.

Rimmer shivered as Lister pulled back slightly, leaving empty air where the other man's flesh had been. His arms were tense, still bracing him against a pounding that had stopped. Lister's grip on his penis eased, as well, and Rimmer lowered his head from where it had been, facing the showerhead with his mouth open somewhat stupidly into the stream. He spat out water and looked over his shoulder.

When he saw Rimmer's face looking back at him, Lister's capacity for speech left him. He hoped in vain that his expression might say what he needed for him; he was panting, his sweat mixing with the water, his cheeks flushed, his eyes filled with pure wanting. He shut his eyes for a moment to try to regain his voice. "Just... just stop me whenever," he finally managed, opening his eyes again and moving in closer. He moved his cock slightly, hoping that Rimmer would get the message. Almost his entire being was occupied with the task of keeping from ravishing Rimmer at that moment; bending him over and just sliding in... He bit his swollen lip again, repressing the thought.

Rimmer turned back to the wall. He had no idea what had been shining in those big puppy-dog eyes of Lister's, but he knew he would go spare if Lister just stopped whatever it was he had been doing. "Don't stop now, you smegger!" he gasped through his teeth.

Merely seeing the lust in the other man's face was beyond a turn-on. Craning his head around, Lister licked Rimmer's lips, while returning his attention to what was most likely a painfully erect member in his hand. Slowly, very slowly, he moved his own erection towards Rimmer's opening, caressing his ass with his free hand.

Rimmer closed his eyes as Lister licked his lips. He pushed backwards slightly, missing the feeling of Lister pressed against his back. He sighed with relief as Lister resumed stroking him.

Lister almost choked as he felt Rimmer press up against him. He remembered the trick Lise had shown him to hold back from orgasm, where you pressed just _there_ and held; it also had the side effect of feeling absolutely wonderful. He did so to Rimmer now, not wanting the hologram to come before he was done. Bracing himself, making sure the wet slickness was coating all necessary areas, he pushed himself inside the other man.

Rimmer felt his light bee hop into his throat as Lister's fingers did... something. Something that dammed the swell of orgasm he had been feeling building up, taking him floating to some chunk of Nirvana he hadn't quite hit before. But only a second later, something split him in two. Holy smeg, he didn't know something could hurt so badly. His legs gave out, and he grasped for the showerhead and towel rack to keep himself up. He broke the kiss to drop his head forward and choke slightly. It was like nothing he had felt before; the pain was intense, but it brought with it an equally intense pleasure, and he balanced perfectly on the two, swamped with sensation.

Legion wasn't kidding about pleasure and pain responses, some corner of his mind observed.

Lister winced as he saw Rimmer's reaction, but he couldn't stop now. Despite his lack of sexual experience with other men, his insatiable curiosity (and in later years, the boredom of deep space) had led him to read several gay men's magazines, safely out of view from the others, of course. Everything he'd read told him the pain would be temporary, but still, he cringed. What if they'd been wrong? There was a limit to the faith he held in publications named "Thumbs of Love," truth be told. At the same time, his mind was spinning from the feeling of being inside Rimmer. Intense pleasure flooded his senses, and he threw his head back, gasping.

Rimmer grabbed the showerhead and the rack like a drowning man, trying to regain control of his legs. His brain was having difficulty straightening them and making them bear weight; it was preoccupied with screaming at him that something felt too painful to bear, and something else in just about the same place felt far too pleasurable to bear. He took deep, coughing breaths of air he didn't use as Lister started to move in him, leaving him with an absolutely bogglingly un-analyzable sense of fullness.

Lister moved as carefully as he could, but the mind-searing pleasure he felt was clouding his thoughts. Sex. Actual sex. He hadn't felt like this in... Actually, he'd never felt exactly like this. His head fell forwards against Rimmer's back, and he licked it, slowly, lapping up the water mixed with simulated sweat.

The chaotic mess of Rimmer's mind was starting to sort itself out. But not by much. The pain centers of his electronic brain were starting to settle down. They continued to send him multiple alerts every second regarding how much pain he was in, but they were sullen growls rather than screams. His pleasure centers, on the other hand, were still bellowing, and that did not help his quavering legs at all. He was facing the possibility of a terminal loss of verticality, and clung all the more desperately to the showerhead and towel rack, hoping that a more thorough technician than he had installed them. He heard three words - "Oh," "Lister," and "Smeg," drifting through the air in a high-pitched voice, in a variety of combinations. He was startled to discover that he was making them, along with a sound that was too shrill to be a moan and too deep to be a yelp.

Lister kept licking Rimmer's back, because it was something to do, something to concentrate on other than his building orgasm, which was indeed building at an alarming rate. He felt his knees going, which would be a shame, as he was pretty certain he wouldn't be able to carry on doing this in another position, so he shot one arm out and braced himself against the wall. As Rimmer screamed his name, he grit his teeth to keep from coming there and then, and intensified his pace; which was to say it was no longer that of a snail. He thrust gently, but firmly, as he felt the burning need to accelerate even further.

With his eyes squeezed shut, the universe had turned into one of touch for Rimmer. Every physical sensation was amplified. He felt each droplet of water hit his body with an impact like buckshot. His fingers sent back a worrying plethora of tactile information about the smooth, uniform metal of the shower head, conflicting for dominance with the messages from his feet about the small cracks in the tile floor. His back sang as Lister's fingers scraped along it, and the softness of his lips was such a startling contrast that it was hard to believe they both belonged to the same being. The soap slicked on Lister's fingers was barely enough to ease the sensation to pleasure. The feel of the other man's cock inside of him took up far too much of his attention - mental processing power that was usually used for balance, vision, rational thought, breathing - thank goodness he didn't need to - were all diverted to analysis of this thing inside of him; its shape, its size, the feel of the veins as it slid in and out, the agonizing catch and pull of the head as Lister pulled almost all of the way out before sliding back in.

Someone must have packed an orgasm with high explosives and set it off in Rimmer's brain, because he took leave of every sense that was not directly involved in the actual process of climax.

Lister felt Rimmer begin to shiver in his grasp, and he wrapped his arms around the other man's chest as he felt his own oncoming orgasm. He held on to that eerily solid holographic body as though it was the only real thing in the universe, breathing into Rimmer's ear as he felt himself explode into myriad fragments of joy; and for a moment everything was paradise. He was back on Earth, he was on Fiji, in a house by the beach, horses and sheep and all sorts of animals, but there was no Kristine; there was only Rimmer; only Rimmer in his arms, and infinite, infinite bliss.

"Arn," he cried, "Oh God, Arn..."

Rimmer came back to himself on all fours; he must have fallen. Shooting pains came from where he had landed on his knees. Lister was moaning and spasming, driving harder into Rimmer's sore rear, gasping "Arn.." into Rimmer's ear with a hitch in his voice that made Rimmer's heart ache.

Rimmer's arms shook with the effort of holding the warm weight of Lister on his back, but he couldn't bring himself to shake the other man off. This would never happen again, and he couldn't bring himself to hasten its end. As Lister softened and slid out of him, the whimper he spat out into the water still spraying onto his head was partly physical pain from the still-stiff head, and partly from the agonizing emptiness it left behind.

Lister staggered back as though in a trance. He had no idea where he was; a shower? Why was the water on? He turned the tap dazedly, and only then did he look down, see Arn collapsed on the floor and remember... _Remember_!

The warm weight of Lister disappeared, followed by the warm drum of water. The silence it left behind was eerie, and Rimmer slid the rest of the way down. The shower-warmed tiles nonetheless felt cool against his burning face. He grasped at the lines of mortar, feeling so empty that any movement of Starbug would fling him off, spinning into deep space.

Lister sank to his knees, embracing the hologram; kissing whatever skin was nearest his mouth. The touch of his fingers on Rimmer's waist, no longer softened by cascading water, was harsh, but Lister's lips just beside them were still soft. Rimmer looked up, blinking, the light now too bright; everything, including Lister's face, was a haze.

It was awkward to wrap his arms around the hologram, but Lister tried. Kissing his way up to Rimmer's mouth, he made a sound that was either laughing or crying; he couldn't tell. "Arn..." He kept saying the name, as though it could convey his feelings for - well - everything.

The feeling of Lister's lips and tongue on his own lips was intoxicating, but Rimmer could not afford to be intoxicated. Not now. He pulled back, lifting himself half-off of the tiles on his right elbow, blinking to clear his vision.

"Why?" he asked, hoarsely.

Lister frowned. "Why?" The word didn't seem to make sense. He looked at Rimmer's expression, and found he couldn't read it. "Is something... What's wrong?"

Rimmer frowned and struggled to his feet, slipping on the slick tiles. He made a motion as if to straighten his uniform, and halted as his hands grasped air. He barged out of the cubicle, turning once he was out of it to look back in at the shower with Lister within. "In case you didn't notice, Lister, you just had sex with me." Rimmer realized he must cut a ludicrous figure, naked, flushed, and dripping, but he did not have it together to flip to soft-light to dry, or even to make a uniform.

"Yeah, man... I noticed." Lister moved closer, cautiously, looking around for a dry towel. He settled for picking up the one he had wrapped around himself coming in, as it had mostly avoided the streams of water. "Here. Yer soaked, man." He offered Rimmer the towel.

Rimmer awkwardly took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. "I'm terribly flattered that you noticed," he said, twisting his lip. "So, why?"

Lister's eyebrows leapt skywards. " _Why_ did I have sex with you?"

"Yes!" Rimmer shouted, frustrated.

"Why'd you think?"

Rimmer stood there, a living question mark, and Lister hugged himself, partly in frustration, partly because he was also cold and wet. "Because yer an attractive man, and I wanted to! Because beneath that sodding, wretched exterior of neuroses, I saw you, and I liked it. I like you, Arn! I might even..." He glanced at Rimmer's expression, and sighed heavily. "Never mind."

Rimmer licked his lips, clutching at the towel around his waist. "You might even what? Do me in the shower again when you get bored, and the Cat isn't in the mood?" He hugged himself. "What on Io is there to like?"

"I would, in a heartbeat, if you wanted me to." He looked Rimmer straight into the eyes, and tried to see what he'd seen when the other man had been in the heat of orgasm. "It's not the Cat I want, it's you."

Rimmer reached forward and tentatively touched Lister on the cheek. He was dubious. The man had lied to him, staring straight into his eyes, in the past. But his bloody earnest face was just impossible to resist.

Lister took ahold of Rimmer's hand, and turned it over to kiss the palm. A smile spread across his face, like daybreak across a planet's surface. "Can't you tell?"

Rimmer's mouth was dry. He stood immobile as he watched Lister's lips touch his hand, and shivered when they left. He looked at Lister's grinning face, sighed, and put his outstretched hand on Lister's shoulder. "Kryten's going to _kill_ me."

The grin widened, and Lister felt he could keep going, as though there were no limits to his face; as though there were no limits to this room, this place, this moment. "Not if I can help it, love."

Lister's grin typically irritated the smeg out of Rimmer. But this one was open, honest, not snarky, and it was contagious. Rimmer ducked his head as a smile leapt involuntarily to his lips.

"We're doing this all backwards, aren't we?" Lister chuckled as he pulled the hand and urged Rimmer towards him, into an embrace.

Rimmer returned the hug, tentatively at first, then fiercely, hiding his face in Lister's hair. For once, just not caring what it all meant, only loving how it felt.

Feeling Rimmer's arms around him, Lister felt himself relax; truly relax for the first time in ages. In a way that he couldn't quite explain, this felt better than the sex. Yeah, they were doing this out of order, but the sex had to come first; they'd had to get all that tension out of their systems, or none of this would have been possible.

"Don't ever wonder how I feel about ya. This is how I feel about ya." Lister leaned in for a kiss; the softest kiss he could manage, caressing Rimmer's lips very gently at first; then touching them barely with his tongue. With patience, he deepened it, as slow as he could manage, into a whole-body, mouth-to-mouth caress, that left him shuddering as he finally broke contact.

Rimmer sucked in a breath of Lister's as they pulled apart, tasting the vitality of the stale beer and cigarettes that made up his breath, so different from the stagnant taste of stale beer and cigarettes that made up the air in the room. His hand lingered on Lister's cheek for a moment as he stepped back, his face relaxed and full of gentle astonishment.

Then he shook himself, looked down, and unhooked his towel. He blinked, and his blue uniform sprang into being on him. He straightened, nodded at Lister, walked to the storage locker, and pulled another towel out. He handed it to Lister.

"You're all wet, matey." He delivered a peck on the cheek, then stepped back with his hands folded and a grin on his face, staring at Lister's nudity.

Lister felt suddenly very exposed. Without the comfy blanket of sexual excitement wrapped cozily around his mind, it was very hard to see Rimmer... _watching_ him like that, and not hear the myriad references the hologram had made regarding the similarity between Lister and various chubby woodland animals. He took the towel gratefully, and tried to wrap it in such a fashion as to cover as much of his body as possible. He was probably blushing, he realized.

Suddenly, another thought hit him like a punch in the gut. "I hurt you, didn't I?" His tongue prodded carefully at his swollen, aching lower lip. "I'm sorry."

That eternally annoying grin of Lister's had always been a stable point in a highly unstable universe, and it now disconcerted Rimmer to see it waver. His own lip twitched. "Yes, you might warn me next time, mil..." he stopped, abruptly, and realized that his ears were probably turning red.

Suggestive, delicious thoughts rose in Lister's mind, and his grin returned. "Tell you what," he said, stroking his hand through Rimmer's tightly curled hair, similar, yet at the same time so very different to his own. "Next time, I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Rimmer gulped. Of course, Lister could not make an offer like that without Rimmer thinking of chucking him into the android cleaning dip, clothes and all. Oh, but afterwards...

Sitting behind Lister in the cockpit would never be a straightforward exercise again. He found himself profoundly grateful that his console covered him from the waist down.


End file.
